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Chapter 11"You're awfully quiet tonight."
Alvin smiled thinly. "Sorry."
Isabelle looked down at her broccoli alfredo. "I don't know why I'm even surprised. Its not like you've ever been Mr. Talkative."
"I guess not." Alvin replied. He'd barely touched his shrimp primavera, and Isabelle's own food sat in front of her largely uneaten. The chef was going to think that they had disliked his cuisine. In actuality, Alvin simply had no appetite, and he was betting that Isabelle felt the same.
Alvin pushed a piece of pasta around on his plate for a few moments before giving up the effort and putting his fork down. He wasn't going to be able to eat anything.
As if on cue, Isabelle put her own fork down. "Not hungry, either, huh?"
"Not really."
"Okay then." Isabelle pushed her plate slightly to one side. "So talk."
This was what Alvin had been dreading. "About what?"
"Hah, hah, very funny." Isabelle said sarcastically. "If you can't tell, I am not amused."
"No, no, I can tell." Alvin sighed. "I'm sorry about the other night, Belle. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know." Isabelle shrugged. "And I'm sorry I got so upset with you yesterday. I was just…well, upset."
"That's okay, I deserved it."
"Yeah, you did." Alvin stuck his tongue out at her childishly, but she didn't seem to notice. "Go on."
Alvin looked at her blankly. "I don't know what you want me to say, Belle."
"I want you to explain to me."
"Explain what?"
"Explain everything." Isabelle said firmly. "Explain what you're running from, why you won't talk about it – and why kissing me scared you so much."
Where to start? And how much could he really tell her? "I…I hurt someone I love. Badly."
"A girl?"
Alvin laughed softly. "No, not a girl."
"And you feel it's your fault that this person got hurt." It was a statement.
"It is my fault." Alvin clarified.
"How badly was this unnamed person hurt?"
"Bad." Alvin said grimly. "In fact, he barely survived."
Isabelle whistled. "That is bad."
"I know." Alvin nodded.
"So that's what this self-imposed exile is about?"
"I guess so." A part of him wished he could tell her the whole story, but he knew he couldn't.
"You're not giving me a whole lot of details here, Theo." Isabelle pointed out as if she could read his mind.
"I'm sorry," Alvin said. "There are reasons, Belle. And…its hard to talk about."
"I can accept that. For now." Isabelle picked up her spoon and began twirling it in her fingers. "But that doesn't explain the other night. It doesn't explain why kissing me caused you to freak out."
Alvin was quiet for a moment. He looked at her, at the pretty face she nearly hid under the bright hued makeup she wore, the blue-dyed hair, and wondered how she still managed to be so adorable through the punk styles. If things had been different…
But they were different. It was likely he'd never see Brittany again except on the television. His old life was a world away, but he couldn't seem to let her go…even though she had let him go before he had even left. I love you. He remembered her tear-streaked face with a pang. How much of that sentiment had been true? Did it even matter now?
"Theo, are you going to talk?" Isabelle asked, and Alvin shook himself out of his reverie.
"Sorry."
"You should tape-record that word and just play it back whenever you want to say it. Save yourself some breath." Isabelle said sourly.
"Sorry." He said automatically, and then winced. Isabelle just sighed. "There was…there was a girl back home."
"I thought so." Isabelle said. "Did you love her?"
Alvin thought for a moment. "Yes, I did. I still do, sort of. I know I'm never going to see her again, but she's really hard to let go of."
"Do you think she's still waiting for you?"
Alvin thought briefly of Gavin, and tried to stamp down the accompanying flash of jealousy. "No, I don't think so."
"So why are you holding onto her so tightly?"
"You have to understand, Belle. We've known each other since we were children. We fought a lot – really, you wouldn't believe it how much we fought – but I think both of us thought that we'd ultimately end up together. Its hard to let go of someone you've believed was your soul mate since you were eight."
"Oh great." Isabelle said wryly. "Trying to compete with a childhood sweetheart."
"You're not competing, Isabelle." Alvin tried to tell her, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away.
"Yes, I am." She looked at him helplessly. "I've made my feelings clear, Theo. And I don't really care how bad your past is, or how hard you make it for yourself. I care about you. As long as you're not Charles Manson in disguise, I don't think that's going to change."
"Belle, I-"
"No, let me finish." Isabelle held up a hand. "Are we soul mates? Probably not. I'm not sure I believe in them anyways. Do I even love you? Honestly? I don't know."
She reached out for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, and surprising himself, Alvin let her. "Do I care about you? Yes. Do I want to be with you? Yes. And really – instead of running, wouldn't it be better if you moved on?"
"I-"
"I'm still not finished, Theo." Belle scolded him. "I'm not asking for much. Just a chance. You've said yourself your old life is behind you. I am not questioning that. But don't you think its time you moved on with this life?"
Alvin took the time to consider her words. Belle didn't seem to be in any rush for an answer. What good would it do for him to hold onto a past he had rejected? His family was far away from him now, both by distance and by emotion, and Brittany had found someone new after their latest breakup with very little difficulty. Simon knew that Theodore's accident was his fault, and that meant that everyone else knew too. Theodore…well, Theodore was just good-hearted enough to possibly forgive him, but Alvin knew he'd never be able to forgive himself. What was he holding onto? Was he just punishing himself? The more he thought about it, the more he came to believe it.
"Maybe you're right." He finally said, squeezing her hand gently.
"Of course I'm right." Isabelle said, a smile on her face suddenly.
Alvin frowned. "I'm still leaving for Paris, Belle. I've already bought my ticket."
Isabelle shrugged. "That's okay. I have enough money for one, too."
Alvin was so surprised that he dropped her hand. "Really? You want to go to France?"
"I want to go wherever you go." Isabelle told him, and he felt a wave of warmth flood him. "I have nothing holding me here. I'm a drifter, too, you know."
"But I thought that you hated the French."
"Who knows?" Isabelle smiled mischievously. "Maybe I'll learn to like them."
"You think so?" Alvin asked doubtfully.
"No, probably not."
"Then why?"
Isabelle shook her head. "Don't question everything, Theo. Isn't it enough that you will have someone who cares about you with you from now on?"
Alvin thought about that briefly. "I can't promise anything, Belle. I know it's not fair to you, but…my feelings are kind of a mess right now."
"I'm not expecting anything. I just want a chance." She looked at him hopefully. "Do you think there's a chance you might give me one?"
There was a pause, and then he smiled at Isabelle.
"Yes, there is, Belle." He said. "I think there is."
OoooOoooO
"This has got to be the longest flight in the history of the world." Brittany sighed. "You know, I could be talking with Madonna right now."
Next to Theodore, Simon grumbled. "If she mentions Madonna one more time, I'm going to-"
"Simon!" Jeannette hissed at him.
Simon looked abashed. "Sorry."
Theodore grinned at the byplay between his brother and Jeannette. It had taken less than a day for them to fall into a relationship pattern that delighted both Eleanor and Theodore. Theodore wondered if they even knew they were still holding hands. The plane jerked a little, and the grin was gone from his face instantly as a wave of pain accompanied it.
Flying wasn't really agreeing with him.
"Are you all right, Theodore?" Eleanor asked from beside him.
"I'm fine." Theodore tried to assure her, smoothing his features so she couldn't see the etches that the constant aches would make. He had become quite good at that. "My ears just popped."
"Oh. Okay." Theodore was glad she –apparently, at least- believed him. He had caught her looking at him oddly a few times ever since he had woken up, and wondered if he had said something worse than the phone-twirling comment earlier. He didn't remember doing so, but the day was fuzzy after the picnic…
Despite needing to find an aircraft equipped with the facilities to transport Theodore, Brittany had managed to charter a plane that was ready to leave in only four hours. When Simon asked why she had chartered a plane instead of buying tickets, she had just looked at him in bafflement and said, "Why not? We can afford it."
There were definite advantages to being a teenage superstar.
Not that Theodore was, at least not anymore. He hadn't touched his drums since the accident. He knew his right arm – his dominant arm- was still too weak, and he was afraid of hearing just how badly he would sound. Still, it had been the promise of playing those drums again that Simon had used to finally get him to start really working with his physical therapy. He didn't necessarily need his legs to play the drums – Simon had assured him they could rig up something to replace the foot petal for the bass.
But none of that mattered without their lead guitar and singer. Simon's keyboards and his drums did not make a band. They needed Alvin.
The plane shuddered a little, and Theodore suppressed a wince. The turbulence was killing him, but he had refused his pain meds before the flight. He didn't want a repeat of that afternoon, not with Eleanor right here. He was still in a bit of a panic about her coming along. Eleanor was insisting on learning how to help him, but all Theodore could do was try and come up with ways to avoid that help. How long would he really be able to do that? Considering how busy Simon soon was going to be and just how much assistance he still needed, not long.
Another shudder, and this time Theodore couldn't stifle the little yelp of pain. Eleanor looked at him worriedly.
"Okay, I know you're hurting, Theodore. Why don't I get your medic-"
"No!" Theodore shook his head violently. "I'm fine, really. I just don't like the turbulence."
Eleanor's eyes searched his face. "Theodore, why are you lying to me?"
"What? I'm not-"
"Stop it, Theodore. Don't tell me you're fine and then grit your teeth and pretend you're not hurting." Eleanor took his hand. "Simon's been giving me a crash course in your daily routines, Theodore."
Theodore's eyes widened. "He has? Already?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Theodore looked at his lap. "I didn't know that."
"So, are you going to let me help you, or do you want me to get Simon and we can keep playing these games forever?"
Theodore sighed in defeat. "All right."
Eleanor moved quickly, as if afraid that he would change his mind. "Simon, I need Theodore's med kit, please."
"Why?" Simon broke off his conversation with Jeannette, immediately concerned. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no, he just needs his pain meds."
"Oh." Simon retrieved the kit. "Come on, Theodore, I-"
"No, Simon, I'll help him." Eleanor took the kit out of his hands. "I remember how."
"You sure?" Simon asked doubtfully.
"Positive."
"How bad is his pain?" Simon asked.
Eleanor glanced at Theodore. "Bad. I was thinking about the oxy-cotton. Fifteen cc's, right?"
"Oxycontin." Simon corrected her, nodding. "And right, it's fifteen cc's. Make sure to flush the tube with thirty cc's of water afterwards."
"Right."
Theodore let Eleanor wheel him to the back of the plane, which housed a small kitchenette area. Brittany had chosen the plane well, but quarters were still cramped and he'd had a little trouble maneuvering his electric wheelchair.
"I'll just be a second to get things ready." Theodore watched as she pulled the syringe full and set it aside, her manner as brisk and efficient as if she did this everyday. "Ready?"
"I guess." Theodore felt intense embarrassment as he lifted his shirt just enough to reveal the jejunostomy site. "You know, I can finish myself…"
Eleanor shook her head. "No, Simon told me how awkward the angle is for you, especially using your right arm. I don't mind doing it."
If the stoma site bothered Eleanor at all, she didn't show it. It still bothered him. He usually wouldn't even look when Simon was administering his meds or hooking up his Nutri-Flow, as if by denying it his attention he could deny its existence.
"We need to talk, Theodore." Beep. She turned off his feeding pump so that she could gain access to the open end of the tube.
"About what?" Theodore asked hesitantly. He was pretty sure he knew.
"About this." Eleanor didn't have to clarify what "this" was. She pushed the end of the syringe into the tube and depressed the stopper. "About whatever else you've been lying to me about."
"I haven't been-" At a sharp look from Eleanor, Theodore quieted. "Sorry. But honestly, then…this won't be the best time to have this conversation. The meds make me, well, a little loopy."
"I noticed earlier." Eleanor clipped the tube shut and refilled the syringe with water. "But we still need to talk."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Well, for starters, why you haven't told me about this." She held up the syringe. "I had no idea you were still on such strong pain medications."
"Oh, that."
"Yeah, that." She flushed the tube. "How bad is it –really?"
Theodore thought briefly about downplaying it, as he usually did, but decided against it. Somehow Eleanor seemed to be able to read his mind, and he didn't want to make her more upset than she already was. "Bad, sometimes. The stoma site's above where I lose feeling – that hurts pretty much all the time. And everywhere else…well, everywhere else just aches a lot. It changes from day to day."
"The pain meds?"
Theodore sighed. "I still need them almost every day. Dr. Rosewood says that's okay, and to be expected. She says I've been through a lot, and shouldn't be ashamed of needing…chemical assistance."
"She's right." Eleanor still wasn't meeting his eyes, instead moving to re-hook his Nutri-Flow to the tube. "There's no shame in using pain medication, Theodore. No one thinks any less of you."
"No one except me." Theodore said, an uncharacteristic note of bitterness in his voice. "Don't you see, Eleanor? I'm dependent on them now. Sometimes I wonder if I ask for them for the pain, or because I'm so used to it now that it just seems natural."
"I think you're being too hard on yourself." She snapped the final clip into place and turned the Nutri-Flow back on.
"Really? Do you really want a drug addict for a boyfriend?" Theodore's bitterness was fading rapidly, to be replaced by an equally as unwelcome despair.
"You're not a drug addict, Theodore." Eleanor held up her hand to quiet him when he tried to protest. "You may be dependent upon them, yes, but not by choice. There's a difference between someone who does drugs for fun and someone who needs medication due to surviving a terrible accident." She looked at him critically. "That's not the only reason you didn't tell me, though, is it. It's not just because you're ashamed about the narcotics."
Theodore really wished this newfound power of mind reading that Eleanor had acquired would stop. "No, it isn't."
"What else, then?"
Theodore sighed. Eventually he was going to have to talk about it. "I didn't want you to leave me."
Eleanor let out a breath in exasperation. "Theodore, I thought we just had this conversation. Listen, I-"
"No, you listen…please." Uh-oh. He was already starting to feel a little lightheaded. Due to the fact that his meds were liquid and fed directly into him, it took very little time for them to kick in. But that was no excuse to be rude. "I've been ignoring it and so have you. I'm not who I was seven months ago, Eleanor. I can't be there for you in the way I want to. In the way that you should have someone there for you." He sighed, realizing that, whether he liked it or not, the oxycontin had already loosened his tongue and he was probably going to say some things that he would later regret. "Have you even thought about the future?"
"Of course I have! I-"
"Really? Because think about it. What if we got married? Do you want kids?"
His verbal attack seemed to have floored her. "Well, yeah, I guess. I haven't really thought about-"
"Because I never really asked my doctor, but I'm pretty sure I can't have kids. I'm dead below the waist, remember? So when you should be changing your babies' diapers, you'll be changing your husband's, because I can't even use the bathroom properly anymore!"
"Theodore, I-"
Theodore felt as if a dam had burst, and he couldn't stop. "Have you ever thought about becoming a nurse? Because that's what you'll be. Just a nurse who has very affectionate patient. That's not fair to you. You can't ignore it forever –and neither can I."
"Theodore!" Eleanor looked on the verge of tears.
"I'm not even sure why you're still with me sometimes, Eleanor. I can't be very enjoyable to be around anymore."
"Theodore, its because I lov-"
"Don't say it, Eleanor. I don't need your pity." Theodore barely recognized his voice, the bitterness had come back so thickly.
Crack! Theodore didn't know what surprised him more, that Eleanor had just slapped him full across the cheek or that he knew that he had deserved it. Suddenly he replayed the last few moments in his mind, horrified.
"Oh, Eleanor, I'm so sorry." He pushed aside the increasingly heavy daze the oxycontin was sending him into. "I didn't mean it."
Eleanor just sat and stared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't seem to be able to say anything.
"Eleanor, please, say something. I'm so sorry. I really, truly didn't mean it. I just got so angry…I don't even know why…but I told you that the meds made me loopy…" he couldn't seem to come up with anything sufficient to make his apology stick. So he stuck with the tried-and-true. "I'm sorry, Eleanor. So, so sorry." Still silence. "Eleanor?"
She just stared at him as if he were a stranger. "Eleanor, please. I'm sorry."
Finally the Chippette spoke. "I…I know, Theodore."
Neither of them knew what to say for a few moments. They had never fought before. "Eleanor?" Theodore ventured after a moment.
"Yes?"
Theodore fought for the courage to say something he'd said every day for months. "I…I, uh…I still love you."
"Thank you." That wasn't exactly the answer he'd been hoping for, and he said so.
"That's not real encouraging."
Eleanor smiled at him wanly. "I love you too."
"Still not real encouraging." Theodore tried to joke, but it fell flat. He reached for her hand, and was rewarded when she gave it to him without hesitation. "I'm just so scared, Eleanor. You mean more to me than anything in the world, and I don't want to ruin your life just because we think that-"
She shushed him by putting her finger over his mouth, a gesture that was quickly becoming her trademark. "Don't talk, Theodore. Lets just be together. Don't talk."
Somehow, that remark was even less encouraging than the earlier slap.
End of part 11Reviews have been greatly appreciated!